


Words of a Stranger

by manallakhuna



Series: Wanderer [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, M/M, Modern Character in Thedas, Nonbinary Character, Platonic Soulmates, Prequel, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Trans Character, Varric & OC is platonic, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24059491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manallakhuna/pseuds/manallakhuna
Summary: “Shielan.” The stranger said, tasting it upon their lips. “Shielan,” they murmured.They'd arrived in 9:33 Dragon. Hawke's mom wasn't dead yet, the Sabrae clan wasn't flattened, they still had their marks, and there was work to be done.((A series of vignettes to explain what happened during Shielan's time in Kirkwall, to allude to the soulmark mechanics, and setup for my series Wanderer. Not a necessary read, but gives context.))
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke (minor), Varric Tethras & Original Character(s)
Series: Wanderer [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735735
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Words of a Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is a prequel of sorts to vignette out the time my OC spent in Kirkwall after arrival. I also plan to write a short fic on the letters that Shielan sent Varric through the years. This series is purely for fun because I put too much pressure on my own works and kinda want to fuck around and write something I would have liked when I was 14. No betas, minimal editing, written in one go. Enjoy!

“Aneth ara, lethallen.” 

“Keeper Marethari.” 

“You have me at a loss then, I am afraid. If we have met, it has been in passing.” 

“We have not, and though I bear vallaslin, I fear I would be a stranger to any clan that might receive me. I hope you will listen to me, even if they are the words of a stranger passing in the night. I have much that must be said- and little time to say it.” 

Marethari did seem confused- but to her credit did not reach for her staff, or dismiss the stranger in her camp entirely. She seemed to rake her eyes over them once more, taking in each detail. The young elf was markedly Dalish looking- taller than the women, but of an average height amongst the taller men; though they had expressly claimed to be neither upon arrival. Their ears fanned out, wisps of nearly-black hair tucked behind their tan skin, and the mark of Sylaise, blood-red but faded, intersected one honey-colored eye. There was an inherent honesty to be found, there, and the mark of Sylaise, the healer, would not be given lightly. Their weapon had been left on the outskirts of camp as an intentional marker of peace, though the stranger would have no need of the bow were it to come to violence; the mark of magic unfurled from their core even in conversation. Their gift seemed based on knowledge, but largely unrefined. It would not be capable of harming the clan as a whole but would let them escape at a moment’s notice, if necessary. 

“I would hear what you have to say. It is better to listen to a fool for one night than to refuse knowledge.” She spoke, finally. 

“Then the world will be all the better for it. Let us speak a little further from camp- I will not ask you to leave their sight, but I would have our words private. I am entrusting you with information I would only have a Keeper know.” The stranger responded, motioning to the clearing just east of the main camp. 

After their move, the stranger paced, slowly. 

“When the Hawkes came to camp, they released Asha'bellanar. You owed her a debt to escape Ferelden. I say this to establish impossible knowledge. The eluvian- the mirror, will never be repaired. Merrill will ask for the Arulin'Holm. You will ask her to clear a Varterral that will have killed three of your hunters. Pol will yet live- but will die for fear of Merrill. A fear you have cultivated. The Arulin’Holm will not complete the mirror. She will resort to exactly what you fear. Audacity. It has been poisoning your mind even still, even now, spending time so close to its home. You will have taken it into your body and Merrill will kill you. The clan will be left defenseless and without a First or Keeper. The clan will be enraged, and if Merrill’s companion Hawke is not able to convince them, your whole clan will leap to your defense and die as a result." They paused to breathe. 

"Your actions, though in consideration of Merrill, will be the downfall of your clan. I implore you, move back to the south. The blight is over- and the lands are safe once more. People will not recognize your clan in specific. Move to the west, in fact, closer to Orlais’ borders if you can- more north than their Haven between the mountains and the river. Somewhere south of Jader. There should be game in the fertile land between, and you would be able to trade with Orzammar. It would be close enough to get more halla wandering from the Dirthavara. Something new will be born there in 7 years' time- and you would be safe. I would take responsibility for Merrill. I would commit myself to it, and perhaps the eluvian could come to be destroyed. There are many yet in this world that will be restored. You could stay longer if it pleases you- to ensure I entangle myself with her group. By next year, Kirkwall will become increasingly unsafe for all those who live here, and you would do good to leave by then.”

Each word was chosen with care, and spoken with absolute certainty. It was no lie that clan Sabrae was overstaying its welcome in the Free Marches- but Marethari would not move on the words of a stranger. Even so, there was much to consider. The stranger had knowledge beyond things that were observable, even if they had spent each waking moment observing the clan.

“Your name.” She said.

“My- my name?” The stranger stumbled.

“I would know the name of someone who claims to know so much of my clan and their affairs, future or not.” She replied.

“If I remembered one, I would give it to you.” 

“Shielan.”

“Shielan.” The stranger said, tasting it upon their lips. “Shielan,” they murmured. 

“I will consider what you have said to me. The clan will stay, yet.” 

///

“I have it under control!” Merrill yells. 

“Da’lan-” 

“I am no child! I know what I am capable of- I know what I would give, I know what would lead to ruin! You do not have to treat me as something so fragile and incapable of thought!” She’d yelled, then, turning her back, “You have no right. You appear from the air and in a month's time make claims with no evidence- I have the evidence. Could you not be a spirit? A demon, trying to waver my path? I am no fool, Shielan. I know what I’m doing.” 

She was tired of everyone around her being so willing to give up a piece of their past, a piece of history, a task that she had put the whole of her mind to and knew she could solve, with only the right methods and tools. Tired of this stranger, having infiltrated into their group so easily, their group that had been formed with years of blood and sweat and tears. That Shielan would wedge themself so firmly in that spot between her and her nas’falon, the white blade etched onto her ribs burned each time they gave Hawke whispered thoughts left unshared. Hawke had only two marks, both found, and yet the lines on her ribs flared in irritation, in jealousy, each time. A hand landed heavily on her shoulder and spun her to meet angry, golden eyes. 

“You would claim you know everything and yet in the same breath suggest I could be a demon. Tell me, in your training as First, did you not learn the difference in energy between that of a demon and a mage? In all of your experience with demons, you would claim you do not know them enough to sense one? I don’t think you’re a fool, or a child, Merrill, I think you’re blind. Asha'bellanar warned you as such, or have you already forgotten the words of someone centuries older than you, yet? I would tell you everything I know if I did not fear you would ignore it in turn! One of the Elvhen of Arlathan could wake from slumber and tell you to stop, and you would go on! What are you trying to prove? It took Tamlen, and you would let it take you, too. It already is. Marethari feels Audacity’s call, waiting on the other side, influencing you both to madness. When will it stop? Will you be satisfied, then, when your clan is burnt to the dust? When everyone who has ever loved you has died?” Shielan raised their voice in turn. 

“You don’t get to speak of Tamlen-”

“I don’t? Fine. Marethari may die, your clan be damned. Try and fix the eluvian, for all the good it’ll do. It won’t work, not with a demon’s help and every last Sabrae eliminated. The Arulin'Holm won’t fix it and you can chase this fantasy as the last wisps of a long-dead friend haunt you. Goodbye, Merrill. I'll discuss separating us on missions to Hawke the next time I see him.” 

The door slammed something awful as Shielan marched out of it, back as taut as the bow strung across their shoulders. 

///

“You ever gonna tell me my fate some time, Fortune Teller?” Varric drawled, before taking a gulp of the swill so characteristic of the Hanged Man. 

“Get me drunk enough and I’ll spill, I’m sure. Don’ think you should write a book about all the things I know, though. Too dangerous.” Shielan pouted from behind their tankard. 

“Seen you down about eight of these, you know, not sure how you want me to accomplish that.” Varric laughed. 

“Say, don’t you have a bottle of Vint hiding somewhere? Heard it can get Tranquil stuttering. I’d make it worth your time. Might give you nightmares, though. There’s that too.” They said, downing the last quarter of drink they had left. 

“You just want me to break out the good stuff. What’s got you so desperate to get drunk, in the first place, huh? Should I be worried? Is one of the moons about to fall out of the sky?” Varric asked. 

“Your loss. It’s nothing like that. I- I argued with Merrill again.” Shielan said, looking away as if seeing them in profile rather than full-on would hold the wobble in their jaw. 

The two of them had been at it for almost as long as Shielan had been there. Popped right into their lives, like they’d belonged there the whole time. There was something familiar about the elf, though nobody could say what. When they’d started giving heads up on missions, things had taken a bit of a turn. Not everyone sat well with the idea, but the kid hadn’t been wrong once yet. Saved them more than once on supplies and readiness. Don’t have to spend coin on potions you don’t use, after all. Their general clumsiness sometimes cost them a few, but who was counting? The feud with Merrill started soon after, undoubtedly they’d told Merrill something she didn’t want to hear. Most people would put a fist in Merrell’s face at that point, but Shielan wasn’t most people. Seemed to care about Merrill more than they’d ever let on. 

“Oh, man. Alright. Come on, up. You’ve got me. We’ll head up and pop the bottle open. You’d better tell me if I meet the love of my life tomorrow, though, you understand me?” Varric stood, throwing an arm around the elf and pulling them up. 

“I hate her. I hate her and her stupid, pretty, big eyes and her resilience and how she used to sneak me elfroot in my pouch but doesn’t anymore. I hate everything about her.” Shielan burst, like a dam, tears clouding their vision as the two messily made their way up the steps. 

“I know, I know, come on now- the Vint I have tastes like starlight. Weirdest shit I’ve ever collected. And traveling with Hawke, well, that’s saying something.” 

The white flowers crawling up his back tingled, just a little, as they got to the top of the stairs.

“...’m thigh’s tingly, Varric.” 

“I know, Fortune Teller, I know.” 

///

The Arulin'Holm laid next to Merrill on the floor, where shards of mirror fanned around the both of them. The shards closest were tainted red with blood and diluted by Merrill’s tears. Hawke hated when Shielan was right, sometimes. It hurt too much to see her like this. She’d always been a source of joy, even if she had dark circumstances looming over her from the beginning. Not unlike anyone else in their band of misfits. When he’d felt the staff on his bicep finally bloom and wash white, for lack of a better word, he’d looked at her, committed her to memory. Cherished her. She looked quite different then, broken, on the floor, like the mirror. 

“I’m sorry, Merrill. From what’s been said, it sounds like it would have destroyed you. Shielan’s predictions saved my mother, saved the Bone Pits, apparently saved Pol and the hunters of your clan. I wasn’t going to push you to anything, and it’s mean, but I have to admit, I’m relieved. Something never felt right about it.” Hawke said and looked over to where Shielan stood, by the door. 

“I- oh, Shielan. Your arm. You-”

Copper had been woven into the elf’s bicep, fluffy little flowers that had already-black, even smaller blooms sprouting out of them. Darkness had overtaken the lot of them like the Blight over Lothering. The elf looked pale where they stood, staring into the broken bits of mirror. A face, barely visible, framed by red hair, fading- and Shielan was gone. 

Hawke would have gone after them- but torn between the two, Merrill needed Hawke more. He crouched down and pulled her away from the broken glass with the utmost care, her feet were still bare by tradition. 

“Maybe a nap will help. I’ll stay. Make tea. Call Scrumples over so you can bury your face in his fur. It’s soft, I promise.” 

///

“There’s a note.” Fenris stated. 

“What’s it say?” Hawke asked, crowding him. 

They hadn’t been that close in a month or so. It was Fenris’s own fault. He’d run at the first sight of a memory. Still, the solid weight of Hawke at his back, staring at the letter Shielan had left them, felt good. Felt natural. He hadn’t known what to make of the mage in the first place. They’d used a bow, surely, to further hide their magic, and proclaimed to know the future. Even ended up being right. Could demons do such a thing? Give knowledge of events yet to come? If not a demon, how did they know the things they claimed? There were too many uncertainties. Shielan’s hate of slavers came in handy, though, and they were more bearable than Merrill, the blood mage, or Anders, the abomination. 

“I- cannot say.” Fenris murmured, handing the confounding thing over. 

Even with private lessons, some words still escaped him on paper, yet. It didn’t help that the mage’s words were smudged and crossed out frequently, replacing some words with others often. Garrett’s voice was low in his ear, as he read aloud. 

“Garrett: I do not know when I will return. I am preparing the Sabrae clan for travel and I am grieving. In truth, I lost as much as Merrill could have if she were to have continued her plan. I don’t regret it, but my whole world has spun on its axis, and I will never be the same. I expected- I don’t know what I expected. Tell Varric he’ll see me again, and to expect letters. These are the events of 9:34 to 9:36 Dragon:” 

Fenris listened to Garrett recount the words, telling of a breaking point with the Qunari, a veritable war, urging them to trust Isabela, a fight with the Arishok himself, and the appointment of Meredith. Felt the blood-red bird burn hot into the space under his sternum, breaking the cold wrongness of lyrium in his skin. Watched his lips move, tasted a name long forgotten on his own. Saw the red wolf’s maw closed over Garrett’s neck. Shuddered, turned away. 

///

“Sweet thing, you told Garrett to trust me? Isabela. Pirate. Most known for stealing and fleeing. Nice to see you, by the way. Things have been weird. Really, though, me? Trust me?” Isabela asked as she’d leaned over the table. 

Shielan truly had looked worse for wear. The armor they’d worn quite often before (which was worn raggedy) had been replaced with Dalish armor, crafted well, but their tired eyes and unkempt hair belied a worse state than the new armor did. They’d been gone for two years, off doing Maker knows what with Merrill’s old clan. The poor thing had been quite easy to read, and if their abilities weren’t coated in mystery, the elf would’ve been an open book. It was probably intentional though. They’d had talked before about communication, of all things. Shielan wasn’t the first seer she’d encountered, but she had never met one that was right every single time, and certainly not one outside of Rivain. Real ones too, not like her mother. 

Their eyes bore into her, unblinking. They seemed to consider her for a moment.

“You’re a good person Isabela. Soon you might even be able to say so out loud without feeling like a liar. And you’d be right to. It’ll take a little work, though.” They said, then took a sip of tea. 

Couldn’t show her hand or how unbalanced that’d made her feel. You adapted, on the sea. 

“Would you be able to say that a few more times, maybe a few years in the future, in some guardsman offices? I can foresee it…. a need to have you…. by my side….. yes…… you and those big…. elfy…. honey eyes…..” She snarked with a flirtatious grin.

It earned a small smile from the elf. It had been unnerving, the way they recited things with certainty one moment, and turned back into a person the next. It didn’t seem like a trance, however, but more as if Shielan was speaking from memory. 

“Picked up something I thought might be entertaining for everyone in my travels. Can’t say I’m a fortune-teller, like Varric says, not really, but might as well play into it, I guess?” They said, tilting their head, as they pulled a pack of cards out of their bag. 

“Are those-” 

“We called them tarot cards where I’m from. I was surprised to see them here. Shall I do a spread for you, Isabela?” Shielan’s small smile grew to a grin. 

“Oooh, yes, let’s see if I’m going to find some unclaimed treasure lying about.” 

///

“Anders.” 

“Well, I’m sure there’s a perfectly normal reason you’re visiting my clinic at precisely this moment in time after two years of absence.” He winced as he turned from his limited potion supply to the elf at his door. 

“I’ve got loads of elfroot and embrium for you if that helps. For however long is left.” They grimaced. 

Of course. He’d remembered how Shielan had handled Merrill’s issue. Far in advance and unwavering. He’d grown rather fond of them, though. They didn’t say much in person but it was clear where their allegiances had lain. The gentle hand they used to steer Hawke towards helping mages, to sparing all those possible. He wondered what they thought of him now. Or had they always known, and befriended him all the same? Someone capable of murder. 

_They’ve known,_ cold blue resounded from the back of his skull, _They’ve known and it was not manipulation. Just friendship._

Ah, spirit insight. He still wondered if they’d had a spirit knocking about up there, whispering prophecies, no matter how clear it was to suggest otherwise. 

“However long is left…” He murmured, aloud. 

“Yes. I- this is very difficult for me, Anders. I do not disagree with you. I do not even disagree with the message you must send or the damage it does. I disagree with the execution, but I want to hope it’s something born of panic, of escalation. I want to think it’s something done hastily, even with the thought I know you put into everything. I would not stop you- but I would ask two favors, in turn.” They said as they placed the herbs on the desk next to his stock. 

“Name them, but I fear- I don’t know what promises I can keep. Not like this.” He sighed. 

“I know. It’s- it’s okay. I want to hear it from you, to know you’re willing, and then maybe I can help with the commitment. I want to be able to evacuate the Chantry, for the most part. There- Anders there are children, there are tranquil. They deserve to live. The templars, Elthina- I would leave them. This is my first wish. My second is that you not lie to Garrett. Don’t mislead him. He’s not a fool, and he cares for you very much. I will help you find the materials if you truly can’t bring yourself to ask him. This is all I would ask of you.” They said, fidgeting with their hands. 

“I would be amenable to these… how do you plan to get the children and tranquil out, but not the templars?” He’d hedged.

“I’ll make a false report requiring the tranquil to report elsewhere, and the children should be easy to lure out with toys and food. Tell one, and they’ll come running. That’s all I’ve got at the moment- but if I can spare a few, it’ll be worth it.” They replied. 

“I can’t believe you’re not here to stop me.” He said. 

“It’s a choice between the danger you know, and the danger you don’t. You are right, Anders. It’ll be the last blow that will cause the situation to dissolve, possibly for the better. A lot of people will die first. At least this way, I can minimize some of the losses. It would come to this, regardless. If not in Kirkwall, then where else? How many more could die, there?” They stepped back from the desk.

“I accept.” 

///

“You knew? You knew, and you let this happen?” Aveline roared. 

The elf had half a mind to look sorrowful. Of course, they’d known, and as soon as the shrapnel cleared from the sky, she’d turned in rage. 

“I got the children and tranquil out, it’s- it’s all I could do.” They replied.

Aveline saw red for a moment but turned as quick as she could. She would not be blinded as they had by ulterior motives. Arrests would come in time. The red marigolds wrapping around her thigh felt as if they would burn through her skin, anger transmitted tenfold back and forth until it lulled more and more, into nothing. She awaited judgment. 

“That’s- better than I could have asked for. If not Anders, someone else may have, and wouldn’t have had Shielan there to fix it.” Hawke began.

“Shielan could have stopped it from happening in its entirety.” She spoke.

“Look around you, Aveline. You’ve fought by my side for years. Are you so unaware of the sentiment of the mages, the absolute insanity in which Meridith has imposed upon Kirkwall? Mage or not, something had to give.” Hawke had shot back.

“Meridith has the rest of Bartrand’s red lyrium. It’s in her sword. Her paranoia escalated things beyond control. I’ve tried to find it, to take it and destroy it, first. I almost died in the attempt. By then, well… I would never be able to kill Anders, emotionally or physically, and I have knowledge to live for, yet.” Shielan’s quiet voice came. 

The explosion could never be justified, on principle. The news of Meridith’s red lyrium charged insanity did shift some things around in her mind. Shielan’s efforts were considerable. Changed her thoughts enough that she would still fight by Hawke’s side if what she thought would happen did. If he spared Anders. The tightly-wound bubble in her chest relaxed, only minorly. 

“Fine. I won’t pretend to be happy, but I go where you do, Hawke. I’ll still see him pay for his crimes.” 

“I won’t ask for more.” 

///

“You claim this… elf… knew the future.” Cassandra tried, eyebrows furrowed. 

He runs his fingers along the lines he knows frame his right shoulder blade. Asphodel flowers. Shielan had said they’d meant two things where they were from- regrets, and fabled, peaceful pastures for the dead. They looked a little sad. Wisteria coated their thigh, a welcome. Their first mark in Thedas, they'd said. He wanted to know what they'd meant, all of a sudden. 

“It’s the truth, Seeker. There’s not a thing Fortune Teller told us would happen that didn’t come true, except for the things they’d prevent. Fun trick. What a pair we make. I get to write down the past, and they jot down the future.” He replied.

“You did not think once to ask where they got this ability?” She asked.

“We knew it wasn’t a demon- or a spirit. Whatever distinction you want to make. The way they’d looked at that shattered mirror, the girl Hawke saw in it as their mark faded. Some things are harder than you think to talk about, Seeker. Couldn’t get a peep out of them about it.” He said with a sigh.

It was more than intimidating to sit in front of the Divine herself while Cassandra re-grilled him about the events of the past 10 years. Some of the more interesting sections had to be cut out of his explanation, to be sure. Something-something Andrastian guilt something-lying-something. He'd have a few hours to himself, after, since Cassandra was off to chase down the apostate skirting their camp. 

He was about to bunker down for some writing at the desk they’d graciously allotted him when the mark on his back started to tingle. More than it had in months. Meant Shielan was real close by. For some odd reason, the knowledge that he, Varric Tethras, was in the same spot as the Divine herself, the right-hand Seeker, and the Spymaster left-hand, surrounded by mages and templars that wanted to tear each other’s throats out, and in the holiest Andrastian spot on the continent, didn’t comfort him. No, that would be too many elements all in one spot. Shielan showing up? Nobody expected the meetings to be completely peaceful. The dawning realization started to wash over his face and-

an explosion of green tore apart the sky.


End file.
